Ghost Stories (Lord knows I can tell you plenty)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: God, what was he doing?


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** This is a Rick/Shane ficlet meant to fit in as an AU ending to "Better Angels." Where, instead of Rick killing Shane in the field, Shane has a moment of clarity and realizes where this path is going to take not just him, but Rick, Lori and Carl unless he reins in the crazy.

 **Warnings:** ***** Contains: teases the idea of the supernatural in terms of Shane possibly getting a glimpse of his future and presumably has the ability to change it, adult language, adult content, angst, drama, ust, admittance of feelings, potential allusions to Rick feeling the same way, friends to lover's type of thing. Told in Shane's point of view.

 **Ghost Stories (Lord knows I can tell you plenty)**

" _Now listen to me, Shane. There is still a way back from this. Nothing has happened here. We're gonna lay down our guns and we're gonna walk back to the farm together. Back to Lori. Back to Carl. Put this all behind us."_

* * *

It was years to the day and he still had no idea what it was.

Predestination.

Supernatural mumbo-jumbo.

A divine kick in the ass.

All or none applied.

Hell, you could've held a gun to his head and he'd still wouldn't have been able to put it into words.

Because in that moment on the field, suddenly- _somehow_ \- he saw himself.

More to the point, he _didn't_ see himself.

Instead, he saw the consequences of his actions stretch as the moon flooded the field with an unnatural sheen. Bright and dark, all at the same time. He saw the flash of a hidden knife, a cry, then a future where he wasn't present. Where Rick, Carl, Lori and his- _their_ child went through some of the worst shit imaginable. He watched people die. Friends. Some he knew, some he didn't. He watched Lori pass and Judith grow. He watched Rick chase Lori's ghost, then his. He watched Rick try. Fail. Then try again. He saw the rules change and people – _other_ _people_ – become more dangerous than the walkers. He saw-

He lurched to the side, expelled from the maelstrom of images, sounds, smells- all of it, with a jarring rush. Feeling sick in more ways than one as his stomach roiled nausea and horror like a building threat. Sensing more than seeing Rick's expression change. Going from placating to unsure. Body-language like an open book he'd always been able to read as the echoes of Rick's pained cries – hazing condensation and salt-tears – ghosted across his vision like he was seeing double. Seeing what could have been. What they'd almost done. What _he'd_ almost done.

It was like taking a roundhouse kick to the face.

 _God, what was he doing?_

How had he gotten to this point?

Where he thought the best option was to-

He shuddered, feeling the impact shiver like rebirthed electricity as his knees hit the dirt.

 _That wasn't him._

Rick wasn't just his brother, his best friend.

He was more than that.

He'd _always_ been more than that.

And he'd spent his entire god damned life desperate not to screw that up.

Keeping the way he felt locked down.

Locked away.

Telling himself over and over to be grateful for what he had and not-

"It was never about Lori, man," he choked out. Hoarse and broken open in a way he figured he had no business being, considering. But feeling it all the same as Rick stilled above him. Expression a mess as the knife he'd seen in that frenzied rush of images – the one that'd cut his insides and turned him cold - slipped wetly into the long grass.

Because it hadn't.

He knew it was wrong to say, but Lori had been the only part of Rick he could touch. Rediscovering that connection – _that_ _want_ – every time he slid into her softness. Getting high off knowing Rick had been there first. And that part of him – even if it was all in his head – was still there somehow. Waiting.

Lori had kissed him back that first time just needing to feel. Needing something to fill the hole Rick had left behind. Need to be needed when the world seemed to be ending around them in real time. He'd taken her apart with his fingers and tongue because he couldn't smell Rick on the shirts he'd found stashed in his duffle bag after they'd evacuated from Kings County. Scent fading just like he was afraid it would as Lori had gasped into his mouth and murmured Rick's name like a prayer.

He'd come in his pants with a shuddering jerk that hurt coming up.

So gone on it he'd almost cried.

Hiding it by kissing away her apologies and holding her close.

Not daring to tell her he was glad she had.

Not daring to ask if she could do it again.

Not daring to-

"I don't-" Rick started, trailing off before he wobbled dangerously and followed him down. Until they were mirror images – both weak at the knees. Feeling unstable inside his own skin as the sudden lack of mania made it feel like the horizon was tilting.

He shook his head. Regretting it when the backwash of vertigo hazed like a black-out on the edge of his vision. Momentarily defeated by the enormity of it as he struggled to find the right words. Trying to repatriate his ego and pride to somewhere they'd be useful for once, as Rick searched his face. Expression cracking like he wasn't the only one barely keeping it together.

This was happening.

This was real.

This was now.

And if there'd ever be a time for a bombshell like this, well-

So, instead in running, he took a deep breath and just let it go. Decades of words left unsaid, anger, hopes, dreams and pent-up want. It didn't matter. He let it surge together in a jumbled mess of vowels and base-pleads. It wasn't an explanation or a long string of excuses. For once, it was just- _him_. Everything he had in 'im in one big, fat, ugly stream of consciousness. Dumping it all at once, swing or miss.

Where you have nothing to lose and everyone knows it.

Especially you.

* * *

He told Rick everything.

Even the parts he didn't want to hear.

 _Especially them._

Holding an entire friendship hostage until Rick lunged forward and pulled him in. Gripping him close as all his broken pieces condensed into warm, softening splinters. Letting a second tick by, then another, waiting for the other shoe to drop, before he grabbed him back just as fiercely. Fingers like claws that hooked into the spaces between Rick's ribs as the wet of tears made the everything just-

* * *

The walkers still came.

They still lost the farm.

Still lost Patricia and Andrea.

But they made it out.

He figured that was as good a start as he could hope for, really.

* * *

 **A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.


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